June 7, 2045 - 2:30 PM

An hour and a half had passed since the bomb dropped on Margo, but to her and Carl, it felt like only five minutes. Margo sat on the same couch in the HQ lobby where she'd discovered Tetsuo Fujioka's hatred of parasites shortly before learning of the potential danger at the Mental Health rally. Carl watched over her from a distance, watching her gaze at the holographic TV screen before her, awaiting another part of her life she thought she could control slip beyond her reach.

Not too long ago, when the diagnosis came to light, her feelings were on full display. The tears, the panic, the desperation to forget the loose thread she'd unraveled from a once-complete picture. But now? There was nothing. A vacant, pale slate where a terrified individual used to be. A machine exhausted, having fulfilled its process but suddenly consuming data dangerously unfamiliar to it.

She didn't blink. Not correctly, anyway. When she tried to, it was always off. Her eyelids twitched and flickered like lights in a rundown building, never shutting all the way. From a distance, one could assume she was sleep-deprived or deeply frustrated. And maybe that was the case, Carl thought. Who'd want to lie down to rest after a revelation like that? So much to ponder. So much to contemplate over and over until everything made sense. Until she forced it to make sense.

Taking a deep breath, Carl made his way over to her. He looked around, studying the windows and the walls and anything that could distract him from darker thoughts. I can't make things worse than I already have, he thought. What Margo learned is only the beginning. And the worse part is this was something even I didn't entirely suspect.

He stood before his young friend, her eyes glued to the screen as if drawn to them with magnets. She paid him no mind, not even waving or smiling or glancing at the light on his ring revealing which alter took center stage. She just gazed into the screen, consuming the lies it sold to her.

"Hey," he said, taking a seat beside her. "You okay, kiddo?"

Her eyes twitched, and she shrugged her shoulders.

"What have you been up to this whole time?"

Margo shrugged again and said, "Just...been here. Watching the TV."

Carl felt his muscles tense at the sound of her voice, though he'd never admit it to her. It was flat, almost robotic, utterly alien compared to the sweet, sensitive sounds he'd remembered most about her. Every word seemed to wound her little by little.

"What about you?" she said. "What have you been doing?"

The question reminded Carl of the burn on his shoulder thanks to Andrade down in the Rabbit Hole. Those Apaths issued to him by the medics worked wonders. Only thing that even made him realize someone injured him in the first place were the bandages gripping around his shoulder beneath his coat. Even with more important matters at hand, he was glad Mason was merciful enough to mend his wounds and numb the pain. After everything she's done to me, he thought. What she's done to all of us.

"Fine then," Margo said.

"Oh no, I'm sorry," Carl replied. "I got lost in thought there, uh...A lot of things have been happening."

The young Psychwatch officer beside him said nothing. She only nodded.

"Mason gave you the rest of the day off. Wouldn't you rather be at home?"

He'd finally gotten a glance from Margo, one he wished he hadn't. "I don't want to be alone right now," she said, and she returned her sights to the TV.

"Oh." Carl cleared his throat. "I totally understand. I'm still really sorry about everything, Margo. If there's anything I can do for you, you let me know, and I'll get it done in an instant."

"Those news anchors on the TV. They're telling me to kill myself."

The words sent shivers down Carl's spine. He looked over at the screen and saw only a report on the Rabbit Hole mission. Particularly the dozens of people who'd died down there either by Psychwatch's hands or their own. SanityScans were to be installed within the next few days, and services for the victims spanning weeks. None of it pertained to Margo, but that's what her traitorous mind made her see and hear.

When the news anchors came into view again, Margo pointed at the woman on-screen and said, "She says it's all my fault and I should've died down there."

"Margo," Carl said, a lump in his throat, "do you have a prescription for any antipsychotic medications yet?"

"No."

"Well, how about we go and get you prescribed?"

"What?"

"I said you should get yourself a prescription for antipsychotics. Better now than later."

Negative symptoms already? Carl thought. Loss of concentration, no motivation. Is that part of the schizophrenia? Or is that just a part of the fact she's not happy?

"Carl, I'm..."

"You're what?" Carl said, but he got no response. He wanted to activate the lens of his ThoughtControl piece just to see if he could make anything out from it, but he knew such an abrupt gesture had a habit of startling and even provoking patients. So he ditched the idea.

"I'm not sure if I want to," Margo finished, exhaling as the last word left her tongue.

"Margo, you can't keep working here if you haven't learned to keep your mental illness from interfering with your work life. You know that. I really want to help you out, but you have to make the right choices."

"How much of what I've heard and seen was a lie?"

Carl froze. "They're not lies, Margo. Just misunderstandings. And like any misunderstanding, everything you've experienced can be fixed by taking a closer, careful look."

"It's not that easy!" Margo hissed.

Carl looked down at the floor. "I would never say it's easy. I've been through very similar experiences, so I can assure you it's the hardest thing in this world to overcome. But it's not impossible."

Margo shivered, grasping her face with her hands. "Ellie's telling me I won't make it," she said.

"Ellie?" Carl repeated. "Where..."

Don't ask who or where she is, he told himself. Keep reality set in stone.

"She's by the window. She told me I should've just peeled the walls off. Then I never would've learned about my diagnosis, and I'd probably still be happy."

"I hate to say this," Carl said, "but were you happy even before the diagnosis?"

Margo shook her head, the movement slowing as the realization dawned on her, seeping into her body like the early stages of a sickness.

"Well, stress is one of the major triggers of psychosis," Carl said. "So at least we know that. We're making progress already."

Margo said nothing.

"We're making progress," Carl repeated, quieter and careful, hoping he could get through to the officer he knew like a family member.

The two sat in silence for some time. Margo's gaze didn't move from the TV, nor her crooked position on the couch. Her back curved like a talon as she slouched forward. Carl sat correctly, his spine climbing to the heavens, making others around him aware of his professionalism. He was a Psychwatch officer. Composed, vigilant.

He was a broken man abused by the very corporation he thought could save people like him.

Yo, called Loki within his mind, you want me to take over?

I think you've said and done enough, Carl said.

But she hasn't even told you what she and I were talking about. Y'know, the Shadows and stuff.

I'll let her know when she's ready. She needs time to adjust to her diagnosis.

What about Catalina? Do you think Margo would like to talk to her?

Loki, please just wait until she's ready. If Margo is overwhelmed by this, I can only imagine how Catty would react.

Alright, alright. Good luck, old man.

Carl returned to the forefront of reality when Margo asked, "What did Psychwatch do to you?"

"I'm sorry?" Carl coughed, leaning closer to her. He heard her clearly. He just didn't know how long he could discuss it before someone else would take over.

"You were gone a long time, and then suddenly I run into you in the Rabbit Hole. What happened to you?"

"Nothing to worry about, kiddo. You know how thorough Psychwatch is with their investigations. They just spent a good amount of time making sure I wasn't partially responsible for what happened at the rally."

"But then how did you learn about the Rabbit Hole?"

I took matters into my own hands, he wanted to say, but the thought made him feel as if he were a creature made of pure fluid, taking his leave out of a body that wasn't his. He had nearly dissociated.

Once he'd snapped back to reality, convinced the body he inhabited was his own, he said, "Admittedly, word gets around quickly. One might hear things on the corner of a street. Or a holographic billboard downtown. Or even an estranged journalist."

Indeed, he was surprised Arthur Cohen succeeded in contacting him before being dragged off to the Rabbit Hole. He didn't know what the Multi Man had put him through, even after discovering his catatonic body down below upon donning his role as Mr. W. But the fact the poor bastard managed to plea for help in the end made him feel, even for a moment, that he was on the right side of the fight.

Margo remained silent once more. Carl couldn't tell if she'd even realized he was referring to Cohen with that last description, or if she'd even heard a word he said. The TV refused to let go of her. Whatever she saw, it wouldn't let her look elsewhere.

"So that's..." Carl said, "how I got down there."

Margo nodded her head. "Now tell me what Mason did to you and how it actually caused a dormant alter to come back."

Carl groaned. "It was just an interview. Nothing more than that. Loki only came back because of the stress."

"He was also telling me things about shadows. The Jungian kind. That I'm hiding something from myself." Margo sighed. "I guess this is my Shadow. A history of mental illness. Not a surprise since my mom exhibited symptoms of PTSD after that car accident when I was fifteen."

She's nearing the light, Vince told Carl.

"Margo, post-traumatic stress disorder is not hereditary," Carl said. "You know that. And not only that, your mom obviously recovered over time."

Margo shrugged. "I can't really tell since we never talk anymore."

"Did she already know about this?"

"No."

"Are you going to tell her about it?"

"I don't know."

Carl once again felt that his body wasn't his own. But he fought the dissociation and snapped back. "Well...take your time to let her know."

"I'll probably tell her tonight. We weren't talking before, so I know this will definitely keep her away."

"I don't get it. I thought you two were pretty close. At least compared to me and my family."

"Really?" Margo didn't recognize the venom in her tone. "You don't remember all those times she left me alone when I was a teenager?"

"But I saw her coming here all those times, Margo. She was attending therapy for her PTSD. And I could tell she was getting better, honest to God. But I'm sorry I didn't realize you felt this way."

"Well, you don't even realize Holden thinks I've replaced him."

"I..." And in that moment, Carl felt as if a sturdy set of hands took hold of his neck, hellbent on crushing his windpipe.

"I'm...aware of that," he sighed, shoulders slouching. "But sadly there's nothing I can really do about it, especially with how things have been between his mother and me. I hate to admit it, but between her and I, I've had better luck recovering from...a lot of things."

"Guess it'll be the same with me," Margo muttered.

Carl sat up. "That's great. That's positive thinking."

"No. I meant I'll be like your sister. Driving everyone in my life further and further away until I have no one. No hope of recovering."

It had been years since Carl could remember growing angry at something Margo had said. But he resisted the feeling, lest someone else would take control. "You shouldn't think that way," he said.

"I know," she said, "but it's the only way that makes sense to me right now."

"Sandoval, Maslow," croaked a familiar voice.

Margo didn't look back, but Carl craned his neck to the right to find their old colleague Royce positioned behind the couch. Or what was left of him. The man looked like he'd lost half his body weight. His face and arms were nothing more than a delicate layer of flesh wrapped around bone like a Christmas present, and his gait and movements were incongruously careful, evidence of the cybernetic repairs to his spine. His expression evoked great pain and sorrow; there was someone or something he failed to protect. Maybe a loved one. Maybe his officers. Or even himself. Psychwatch wasn't where he should've been.

"Royce?" Carl said. "Hell are you doing back here?"

"Therapy," he said. "According to the Scans, I've been exhibiting symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. Not that I needed a Scan to tell me that. Everything else on my mind and in my life has been reminding me over and over."

"Dear God, I...I'm really sorry, Royce. Is there anything I can do about it?"

Royce nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I really don't think so. No."

Carl nodded his head and turned back to the screen before him, his nerves tingling with a weightless sensation, as if sinking into quicksand.

"How are you doing, Sandoval?" Royce said. "Are you alright?"

Margo shook her head. Her world was the screen before her, and whatever nonsense it offered her was law.

Royce turned to Carl, and Carl said, "The Rabbit Hole was one of our most exhausting experiences yet. She's just taking some time to take it all in."

"She knows about the role you took down there?"

"Yes. It didn't take long for us to run into each other down there."

"What about Mason?"

"She knows, too. She wasn't too happy, but she never is when facing the unknown."

Royce nodded. "I'd say that goes for everyone."

"Maybe."

"Maybe? You've never feared the unknown, Maslow?"

"Can't be any worse than the things I already know."

"Wish I could say the same," Margo muttered.

Royce raised his brows. "How about you, Sandoval? What do you think is worse, the unknown or the things you already know?"

Carl watched her shiver in her seat as she pondered the question, caught in a cold draft.

"You don't have to answer his question if it makes you uncomfortable," he whispered to her.

"Did something happen to her, Maslow?"

"My sister wants me to kill myself," Margo whimpered.

Don't dissociate, don't fucking dissociate, Carl told himself.

"Your sister?" Royce repeated, dumbfounded.

"She's..." Margo paused, composing herself so the tears wouldn't fall. "She's not real, Royce. Psychwatch diagnosed me with schizophrenia. She was just an auditory hallucination this whole time."

"Oh, shit. I can't imagine how you must be feel—"

"I think you should leave," Carl told him.

"Can I at least offer my condolences?"

"She'll be alright. Just go to your session."

Royce took a step back, hands raised to his chest, mouth gaping. Carl was quick to realize what he'd done. "I'm sorry, Royce," he said.

His broken colleague nodded his head, still as a corpse. "Likewise," he said. "I hope we'll all get better soon."

"Yeah. Me, too."

And Royce trudged away, the pace of his walk weighed down by a guilt so heavy, not even the Scans could comprehend.

And you fucked up again, Carl thought, eliciting various retorts from the other alters. The out-of-body sensation returned, and his attempts at resisting it caused him to writhe in his seat until he'd nearly tumbled off. Margo still paid no attention as she buried her face in her hands, whispering to herself to hold it together.

"I'm sorry about what Royce said," Carl said, clawing into the seat as he climbed back up. "I really wish I knew what to say to make everything better."

"Doesn't matter," Margo mumbled.

"But it will get better, Margo. Trust me. It always does."

"How long does it have to take?"

"This pain and confusion isn't just gonna go away in a day. You know that."

Margo let go of her face and sat up, still unable to look her friend in the eye. "Maybe I didn't," she said. "Maybe it was one of those things I said over and over again but never actually believed."

"Margo, I've seen you go through hardships before. I know you'll make it through this again, and I'll be here to help."

Margo's eyes finally met his. Goosebumps rippled across his skin, and his body felt paralyzed from the neck down. He wanted to scoot away from her, and he hated himself for letting that kind of thought race through his head.

"If you saw me go through all of them," she said, "then tell me how much of it was all in my head!"

"But..."

"But what? Why is it so hard for you to explain?!"

"This is something you've only known for no less than two hours," Carl said, his voice low and hesitant. "I hate to say it, but we're not emotionally ready to discuss all of this yet."

"There's no we, Carl! What, did you know this whole time? Did Mason tell you while you were gone?"

"No, it's just not what I expected!"

"Well, I'm sure no sane person would have. But I'm not sane, Carl! Something was wrong with me this whole time, and I'm just barely finding out!"

Carl winced. "There's nothing wrong with you, Margo. It's a controllable condition. It's not the end of the world."

"It's the end of mine."

Carl said nothing. Now that his eyes met Margo's, all he could do was study them, compare how glassy and distant they were from the young girl he once knew, who he once thought he could protect, but from what? Herself? Psychwatch? Her mother? Her...

It was only a matter of time before everything else would come to light, he thought. This was the first wave, a small but potent ripple, and Margo was already drowning. He didn't know what to do next. Delay the inevitable? Get it over with? What would've done the least the harm? Or even the most necessary harm?

Would anything even justify it?

Margo rose from the seat, turning away from Carl, directing toward the rest of the hallway behind her.

"Where are you going?" Carl asked.

"To see my mom!" she barked. "That way at least I'll know she has a reason to avoid me."

"Margo. Please stop saying things like that."

She didn't look back. She marched forward, prepared for the downward spiral.

"Margo!"

The sound of him bellowing her name out gave Carl another reason to hate the person he'd become. He felt his heart sinking deeper and deeper, isolated within walls that only drew closer and closer until all he could do left was deliver the final blow. The last secret Margo needed to hear. The one that could've ended everything.

To his surprise, she halted at the mention of her name, as did the rest of their colleagues in the hallway. He was a pawn on display, he thought, digging his own grave. A grave so big, there was no way he'd be buried alone.

"Margo," he croaked, "you need to want to get better."

"It doesn't matter what I want, Carl," she said. "Nothing's ever been in my control. I realize that now."

"The antipsychotics..."

Silence fell as Margo took the time to think.